We meet Doc.
Of all the things to make fun of about the old west, “snake oil” or potions, elixirs, so-called medicine designed to cure everything has got to be at the top of the list.
Doc is quite the hilarious showman, though I don’t believe he intends to be funny.
I see Doc as a man who is full of himself, yearns to have a place in history as a revered, great man and honestly believes he’s doing a good thing by peddling his Miracle Cure-All.
And keep in mind, even as far as the 1950’s, cigarette companies were putting out ads with doctor approved cigarettes, so heck, you almost can’t blame Doc for thinking himself a genius for “touting the curative properties of cocaine.”
By the way, I’m thinking of changing cocaine to opium. Cocaine seems funnier. Opium seems more time period appropriate. As far as I know, they had both in the 1880s.
“Step right up! Step right up!”
While Gunther was pleading Slade’s case to deaf ears, a flashy salesman set up a cart just outside the Bonnie Lass’ double doors.
The only thing slimier than this lowlife’s pitch was his appearance. He had a devilish black beard, the kind that came down his face to a point just like the letter, “V.” His mustache curled upwards at each end. He wore a red velvet suit, wrapped his neck up with an ascot, and carried a cane topped with a golden ball. Sitting on his head was a top hat that extended an extra two feet above his cranium.
“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, step right up for a taste of Doc Faraday’s Miracle Cure-All!”
A large group gathered to listen to the huckster’s silver tongue wag away as it made all manner of suspicious promises.
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